


the price of our freedom is blood in the water

by iidiiot



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iidiiot/pseuds/iidiiot
Summary: schlatt and wilbur make up after the both of them die. you can't afford to hold grudges when this is the bastard you'll be stuck with for the rest of time, schlatt thinks.title from 'what are we fighting for' by 'the federal empire'.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 156





	the price of our freedom is blood in the water

**Author's Note:**

> based vaguely on the events on the dream smp, post manberg vs pogtopia war. wilbur and schlatt are dead and in ghost form, as is canon in the smp (i think). this also includes the extent of my knowledge on what ghost wilbur remembers and what he doesn't. this may be incorrect, so please take this with a grain of salt.
> 
> rated teen mostly for language.

death isn't anything like schlatt would have imagined it to be. it's warm rather than cold, but heavy rather than weightless and freeing. it feels like he's being dragged down, pulled on and tugged at. and then he's gasping, though he can't possibly need air because he's dead, and his eyes open. the world is the same one he remembers, but also new. where manberg once stood is a crater, but buildings are being constructed in the wreckage.

wilbur must have blown the whole place to hell then. he wonders where the asshole got off to. he hopes it's a cell of some sort. he was batshit-- off his shit, down the hole, out of his mind. he was there though. schlatt knew it, could see through the madness in his wake to the fact that it really was wilbur behind it all.

he finds out rather quickly that wilbur died too. from his own dad, to boot. there are new people, working amongst the ones he's familiar with. tubbo, quackity, and fundy stick close together, efforts focused solely on rebuilding. maybe it's because they're the last surviving members of manberg. maybe it's shared experiences, shared trauma, shared fear. it's plausible. all of it is, really.

tubbo does well as president, for what wilbur left him with-- because he finds that out too. wilbur made tubbo president when tommy declined and he thinks it's a little fucked, honestly. tubbo and tommy, as great as they are (as intelligent and hardworking and determined and--), are kids. they're just kids and wilbur had thought to give them rule over a nation before anyone else. before quackity, schlatt's old vice president; before niki, kind and patient and good; before even his own son, fundy, who had more right to lead the country than probably anyone else did.

he busies his days floating around after tubbo, or fundy, or quackity. he has nothing better to do, being dead, and he wants to keep an eye on them. he can't do much, not really. at least, he hasn't really tried to do much. the least he can do, after all he put them through, is to watch out for them.

he thinks dream can see him. on the very few occasions he stops by with george (the new king. what the hell was the green man thinking, honestly), to meet with tubbo about something political, he always catches him looking in his direction. the man never approaches though, just stares right through him, so schlatt never tries to talk to him either. it's lonely, talking to himself, but it's what he feels he deserves. just because wilbur was the crazed psychopath doesn't mean that he was entirely innocent either-- there are things he regrets, things he wishes he'd never done, and maybe this is how he pays for it.

the rebuilding goes impressively quickly, new buildings shooting up almost overnight. but just as good as the builds look, the workers look far worse. quackity's shoulders sink a little with each day that passes. tubbo's smiles never quite reach his eyes, not anymore. he doesn't think fundy has slept in days. schlatt watches as they work themselves into the ground and he can do nothing but watch, until he gets sick of just watching.

that's when he hears the music.

it's the soft thrum of guitar, the raspy hum of murmured words. the occasional whistle, the tap of fingers on hollow wood.

he follows it. he knows what it is-- who it is. the louder it grows, the more his anger grows. it bubbles and simmers and threatens to blow over, only raging harder with every building he passes, every stair he climbs. it's in tubbo's room that he finds him. he's drifting across the room, strumming away at his guitar and singing with tubbo asleep right there, as if he hadn't fucked up the kid's life and mental state and everything else-- the least he could do was fuck off and leave him to sleep.

the worst part is, wilbur doesn't even seem to notice him at all, whispered words and steady chords carried on the wind. he just keeps floating, ever the untouchable, and playing his damn guitar.

schlatt explodes. "hey, asshole! what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snaps. despite himself, he can't find the will to leave the doorframe. this finally draws wilbur's attention, head dropping back to look him in the eye. his bangs fall away from his face, tipped upside down, and the bastard only brings a finger to his lips.

"shh.. tubbo's finally asleep," wilbur mutters. his voice is raspy, shot from singing or from something else, he can't tell. it only makes schlatt's rage heavier, harder to bear. wilbur doesn't even stop playing the guitar, hand dropping back to tap a melody into the ghost wood of its body.

"i can see that. what do you think you're doing in here? if anything, your presence alone could wake him up, especially after the nightmare you put him through." schlatt glowers, breaking the barrier when he moves. he steps into tubbo's room and the music stops all at once. tubbo stirs a little.

"what?" wilbur clutches that stupid guitar to his chest and twists to look him in the eye properly.

"you heard me. you drag him to war, pit him against his friends, force him to spy for you, drag him into another war.. and then you make him president of the country he fought so hard for, only for you to blow the whole thing to shit!" schlatt stalks forward. he finds that he can touch wilbur, that his hand doesn't slide right through him. his hand snaps forward, crashing straight through the guitar. it dissipates into nothing, so he fists a hand in wilbur's sweater to drag him toward the ground.

"what?" wilbur echoes. he looks so clueless, like he has no idea what he's done. it makes schlatt so, so unbelievably angry.

"you know what i'm talking about, you prick." he jerks his hand and wilbur's feet finally drop, drifting just above the ground-- the closest he's seen him to standing like schlatt is. and that pisses him off too, that he still thinks he's so much better than everyone else, that he can't even bring himself to touch the ground they all walk on. "you've fucked up all of their lives far beyond anything you could ever hope to fix. i doubt any of them would ever forgive you. hell, i doubt even your own son could forgive you after how shitty a father you've been."

"my son?" wilbur sounds just that much more empty and it makes his heart ache for fundy. how could wilbur ever think he deserved fundy, in all his brilliance, as a son? he couldn't imagine fundy ever forgiving wilbur, not for abandoning him or for paying him no attention. not for-- "i.. i have a son?"

schlatt's mind stutters to a stop. the room comes to a standstill. he can do nothing more than stare, and wilbur just stares right back. "you're.." he swallows hard, swallows words he can't form properly, and continues, "you've got to be kidding me, right? after all you've done to him, after all you haven't done _for _him, you're telling me that this is what he gets? for you to pretend he doesn't exist? that he isn't your son?"__

__wilbur's eyes dart left to right, searching for something on schlatt's face. "you're.. you're joking, right? i would.. i would remember having a son. i would. you're lying, i don't have a son.." he clutches tight to the ram's shoulders, expression frantic and eyes doused in heartbreak. "tell me you're lying." then his hands leave schlatt's shoulders and wilbur is clutching at his own head._ _

__schlatt is once again shocked into silence. "what?" he breathes this time, instead of wilbur._ _

__"you're lying, you're lying, you're lying--" wilbur chants under his breath, drawing his knees to his chest. his hands are still holding his head, fingers threaded in his hair._ _

__"wilbur, fundy. your son is fundy." schlatt tells him, and the other's head snaps up. "your son, fundy, that you dragged into war with tubbo and tommy, that you abandoned and labeled a traitor. the son that you blew off because he wasn't tommy or tubbo, the one that tried to help you by spying on me from the shadows and was still ignored, even when he brought you everything he knew--"_ _

__"what the fuck are you talking about?" wilbur shouts. tubbo stirs again. "what-- what war? i don't.. what are you talking about? i don't know what you're talking about. i don't even have a son--"_ _

__any anger that had been simmering, lying low and in wait, prepared for its moment to burst, disappears. pity pools in his gut with the genuineness of each stuttered statement wilbur makes, each frantic look and confused gesture. he really doesn't remember._ _

__this is a broken man: a shell. he realizes this and he doesn't know how he hadn't noticed sooner. even before, when wilbur was alive. he was so consumed by his own anger, but his own guilt, that he hadn't seen just how empty his friend was getting. this was a broken, numb man, left with nothing and given nothing in return._ _

__"what the hell happened to you, wilbur?" he murmurs. all of the sudden, wilbur seems to burst. he drops, practically floor-bound, and sobs. he sobs long and hard and so full of emotion that schlatt's stomach drops and he feels a little sick with the force of it all. tubbo only grows more restless, tossing and turning, and schlatt drops to his knees too._ _

__"wilbur, come on. it's.. well, it's not okay but--" he tries. he needs to calm him down before he wakes tubbo._ _

__"it's not okay, schlatt. it will never be okay! i can't remember-- i can't remember the war, i can't remember.. i can't even remember my own son! how can that-- how can i ever be okay?" wilbur stammers._ _

__"we'll figure it out, okay? we'll figure it out. just, calm down." when wilbur doesn't show any signs of calming, schlatt does the only thing he can think to do. he throws his arms around the other man-- around his old friend, someone he knew even before this world-- and pulls him close._ _

__he'd missed this, he realizes, as the two of them lay there on tubbo's floor, cradling one another. he isn't sure when, or why exactly, but he was crying too. he'd missed this closeness, being able to be this close with someone-- anyone. even with tubbo and fundy and quackity, the most he shared were shoulder pats and late night conversations. nothing like hugs shared when you're both too overwhelmed to feel. nothing like early morning conversations, when you're neither awake nor asleep, too tired to hold anything sensible but in which everything you say has a deeper, softer meaning in just that you're speaking to one another._ _

__so they huddle on tubbo's floor, dead to the world (literally), and they cry. it helps, he thinks, to feel like this. he hadn't let himself feel like this in a long time, to feel emotional and cry and let his feelings out. wilbur quiets down too, the both of them reduced to wet phantom tears and sniffling._ _

__"i'm sorry, wilbur," he breathes after what feels like hours. "i'm sorry."_ _

__"i'm sorry, too," wilbur tells him._ _

__"we can fix this," schlatt affirms. "we can fix it. fix everything. i know we can."_ _

__wilbur is quiet, for a moment, and he sits back. then he nods, and a smile-- something genuine and warm and real lights up his face. "okay, schlatt. okay. we can fix this." the guitar is back, apparating in his hands, and this time, schlatt doesn't mind._ _

__wilbur tips back again, kicking one leg over the other and drifts a slow circle around the room. hjs fingers start back up, dragging across the strings, and he exhales a thick, rasping hum. schlatt glances over at tubbo and his heart breathes again when the kid settles._ _

__"i've been helping them all sleep," wilbur cuts in softly. "or, i've been trying to. i think my guitar helps."_ _

__"seems that way," schlatt agrees, looking back to him. "maybe it's the music, or maybe it's you. i can't.. i can't believe it, really. not after all you've done. but they still love you, and they miss you so much. so maybe it's you that's helping."_ _

__wilbur exhales a sigh, almost inaudible over the guitar's gentle thrum. "maybe. i hope so."_ _

__schlatt lets his head drop back, following the lazy circles wilbur swims above his head. he was so, so angry that, maybe he'd forgotten how nice wilbur's music really sounded._ _

**Author's Note:**

> would you believe me if i said i've never watched a single dream smp stream, vod, or vid other than fundy's dreamon hunting vid? i get everything i know from clips and you fuckers (i'm kidding. i love you guys :)! )
> 
> hope you enjoyed :D


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